Shadow of the Avatar

Chapter 32 -- A Lakeside Room and the Mark of the Executioner

 I knew we were bound for some fun and profit the moment we saw her. What I didn't expect were the lumps and embarrassment...

--Sindra

Games. The word lingered in Wren's mind as she watched Everia recede down the corridor through the open doorway. The girl's sapphire-colored silk blouse and dress gleamed in the bright light of the hallway casting blue reflections on the paneled walls. Games, the idea made the back of Wren's neck prickle. She didn't mind games of chance, athletics, even the intrigues that went on between the castes and sexes. Mages though, their sport was altogether different. Their manipulative diversions often got people tied in knots that took lifetimes to untie.

Everia wanted her to risk getting embroiled where she might end up permanently shackled or indebted. She'd already vowed to break away from Desiray, and had kept her distance from Cassandra. Now, Everia intimated the only way she'd get away was by following the girl's advice.

Jharon folded his arms, also watching Everia sway down the hall. When the girl finally left their view around a corner, he shook his head and let out a breath. "Ishtar certainly was generous with blessings when that one was born." He sighed. "Generous indeed."

Wren frowned and shoved the door closed with a loud clunk. The abruptness of her move startled him. He gave her a surprised look, dark eyes big in his handsome face. "Why did you do that?"

She closed her hand on the phoenix newly returned to her by Everia. "Oh, no reason." At least, not one she'd admit. Could she say she didn't like him admiring other women, even knowing they'd never be together? It made her sound petty and selfish. Everia was extraordinary, in her appearance, in intelligence, and in the force of her personality. The most faithful and devout of men would admire her.

Logical or not, she didn't have to like it. Wren sighed inwardly. She was already playing games--with herself!

Jharon looked to the closed door. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, if you didn't want me to look, you could step in the way."

Wren frowned. "I'm not that way. You know that."

The priest looked at her askance. He ran a hand through his long hair. "I didn't use to think so."

She felt a pang of irritation. The furry robe abruptly felt itchy and she fidgeted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He blinked at her. He pointed to the bathing facilities. "Are you going to use those?" He rubbed the dark stubble on his face. "I haven't bathed in three days. I need it."

Wren let him change the subject. She leaned closer and sniffed. She wrinkled her nose. In the intervening excitement, she hadn't noticed he did smell a little ripe. "Go ahead. I need to think about what to do next." She looked out through the veranda toward the lake. It certainly was a beautiful place for thinking.

"Don't worry, little bird, Ishtar takes care of her own. You're special. I think she knows it."

She glanced back at him. "I hope so, my friend. I hope so."

***

Pushing the enameled folding shutters back, she stepped out onto the veranda and looked across the estate that Cassandra called home. At least, one of the places she called home. The manse in Ivaneth beneath the tower seemed more than home enough to Wren. She guessed this place to be four times the size of that huge place with its giant libraries and lavish untenanted rooms.

A stream gurgled out of the lake and wound northward, angling down into the trees. What looked like a small mill nestled among the needlewood, the vanes of a water-wheel churning in the water. Small creatures that looked like large birds flitted between the trees and bushes. She squinted and realized they weren't birds at all, but what looked like miniature dragons!